Caroline Hurley's poems have previously appeared in Poetry24, as well as in The Electric Acorn, threemonkeysonline.com and in ESOF's 3nd Science Meets Poetry anthology. Clebran.org featured a chapter from her novel and also some flash fiction. Her current focus is on young adult fiction and screenwriting. She lives near an Irish bird reserve.

Sunday, 28 July 2013

Monday's poem was "I Beg Your Pardon" by Luigi Pagano. It looked at the move by the Catholic church to award indulgences for Twitter follows of the Pope. Luigi skilfully makes the point about the church adopting this very modern practice but being so very medieval about others.

David Mellor's poem "Wait for it" was the first of poems about the royal Prince. David made good points about the media obsession with the birth and the privileged life the boy will have. The final lines are very memorable “Oh what a life / You will never see."

Laura Taylor's "Regal Potential' continued the royal theme and gave the benefit of doubt to the baby for now while urging him to "spit on tainted luxury, become a man / of liberty, equality and peace." which would, indeed, be a good thing.

Thursday's poem by Steve Pottinger "369,000" used the royal birth to show that for the other chidren born on that day things would not be so good. I like this phrase "in homes of plastic and flattened tin /in spat-out estates in lands / whose time has gone."David Subacchi's "A Royal baby" wrapped up the week by looking at the various perspectives on the baby and asking pertinent questions about the baby and its future. I liked the structure of the poem and the way the questioners made comments relating to their work.

So a pretty baby-centric week this week. Which is how the news played out and what you reacted to. Which is what we're all about. Beautifully cyclic isn't it? Have a good week folks, in NZ we are starting to get a few cracks in Winter's facade and the temperatures are millimetering up.

Thursday, 25 July 2013

Here is a poemfor the otherswho are born on mud floorsmarshland and high plainin homes of plastic and flattened tinin spat-out estates in landswhose time has gonein the mewling sprawling cities of the south and east and rising worldwho tumble down out of shanty townslooking for work and hope and foodwho doss down in shop doorwayson park benches in abandoned carswho snatch sleep on night buses and on tubesamid the echo of gunfirewho ride the long trains north in the nightrunning the gauntlet of gangs, police, La Migrawho slip across borders soft as water on blistered feetand take their calloused hands to the sweatshop, the factory, the scramblefor work at the corner of the streetwho live in fear of being denounced, detained, deported,who will be trafficked, who will be soldwho will die before they are one year oldwho will deal drugs in the barrio, the favelawho will get by, whateverwhose crops will failwhose names will be known to no-onebut themselves and the hot dry windwho dream, as we do

I have had one piece previously submitted printed. My name is Maire Ryan McSherry. I have been writing since 2011 primarily poetry, flash fiction and short stories. I live in Wexford Town, near the sea, in Ireland and am Mum to 2 boys. I work fulltime in the financial services sector.

The world awaits, the headlines scream,the herd awaits in dead-eyed glee.She is delivered;the future King.A boy of promise,accident,a common egg, sovereign seed, an ovary to spark a life, a womb to breed a parasite?

When you grow up to be a man, will you reject the riches tumbled to your lap?

Will you refuse the unjust state of monarchistic privilege, or take the weight of Empire’s stains upon your regal head?

Will you renounce this sceptered gold to overthrow a system put in place by death and robbery?

Open wide the highborn doors and distribute the spoils?Lift children out of poverty, give dignity to age?

Or learn to wave and smile just so and take for granted all your life

free from hunger, homelessness, redundancy or debt?

You could right so many wrongs, replace ‘what is’ with ‘what could be.’ Free your soul

from purgatory, change the face of history, spit on tainted luxury, become a man

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

“Wait for it…..”“Oh it’s on its way”Sorry we have no cleanSanitation the powerwas cut off today.

“I wonder what it will be?”

Let’s just hope they bothSee the light of day.

Flashbulbs poppingBlanket coverage around the babySmothering new channels.

“Wait for it...”“It’s on its way.”

“And what a life”you will have...

Not dying in infancy through lack of medsNot working as child labourNot sold into child prostitutionNot queuing at food banksNot spending years unemployedNot growing up in a ghetto so hungry it hurtsNot living in fear of bullets whizzing by

David was born in Liverpool in 1964. He left school with nothing, rummaged around various dead end jobs, then back to college and uni. In his 20s he first discovered poetry, starting writing and performing and has done so ever since. I has lived on the Wirral for the past 8 years.

Monday, 22 July 2013

Although a baptised Catholic- non practising, I confess -I always found it strangethat the Church of Romewas resistant to change.Its views on women priestsand the ban on birth controlare truly symptomaticof a religious creedwhose tenets are dogmatic.So what are we to makeof indulgences being offeredto followers of Tweetsof the current pontiff?All I can think is LOL:it doesn’t happen oftenthat the Vatican softens.

Sunday, 21 July 2013

As usual I’m writing this from my home in Liverpool where the temperature reached an un-British 27 degrees and I’m not really a Summer person so I take cold showers after long 10-hour shifts in work and get back to sitting in front of my laptop, writing my novel and reading over poems.

Hamish Mack, one of our editors here at Poetry24, was the first poem we put up on Monday. The Arms of America was based on the story that was heard over the world of the aquittal of George Zimmerman, the police officer accused of shooting dead Trayvon Martin who was unarmed and had only a bag a Skittles. The news story is of Obama calling for calm as protests began calling for Zimmerman’s imprisonment. I enjoyed the way Hamish wrote the poem with a sense of paranoia, judging and labelling young people as criminals.

We carried on the story to Tuesday with Lesson by Steve Pottinger. The same story of Zimmerman’s aquittal was a strong with a lot of you. Lesson was again about the paranoia and fear that exists in America, treating young people as if they are ‘all the same.’ There was anger in this poem as well as a sense of futility: ‘Poor and black and young / are up to no good anyway.’ I particularly liked the line: ‘Dead kids tell no tales.’

We had something different on Wednesday with Carolyn Cornthwaite’s Ganika, Rupajivas and Pumsachali (the Courtesan and her Missing Muse). Possibly the largest title we’ve had at Poetry24. This was about Scotland’s debate on prostitution, whether they should be tough or tolerant towards it. This was a very interesting, visually, which flipped between a normal existence and that of a prostitute (in italics). What I found interesting was the final line: ‘The / man who never features / in this never ending / tale.’ Purposefully, the first time a man was mentioned, meaning this is all about woman and her choices as a woman and her life and her body.

David Mellor wrote Dating in a State which went up on Thursday. This was more light-hearted than the previous poems, which was about online dating and if it’s a marriage-maker. The speaker stays ‘in control’ and soon, as Carolyn Cornthwaite commented, it ‘slides in and out of control.’ David commented that the internet has not always been a ‘virtual togetherness.’

On Friday we had Our Hero by Luigi Pagano. The shot Pakistani schoolgirl, Malala Yousafzai who addressed the UN, urged education for all. I liked the line: ‘The efforts to silence her / were bound to fail.’ It’s a strong subject, full of power and tenacity. Malala is quoted as saying: ‘I am here to speak up for the right of education of every child.’

And Yesterday was Asef Hossaini with the modestly titled poem, Poem. I thought this was a particularly provocative piece, which is why I chose to go with it. There seemed to be a number of news stories to go with it, so I chose the Edward Snowden story (as well as the Muslim Brotherhood story, which was mentioned briefly). Whistle-blower, Snowden, applied for asylum in Russia as the US renews the surveillance program that Snowden exposed. I liked the last line which was reminiscent of previous locations were protests and demonstrations and sources of public outcry existed: ‘Let’s just find a way / to Tahrir, Taksim, Azadi, Tiananmen Squares....’

I hope you have enjoyed the poems this week. I noticed last week that we reached over 200 Facebook ‘likes’ on our fb page and we are happy this number is rising. Please spread the word about us and continue to send us your work to poetry24@hotmail.com and our Facebook page at Poetry24.

Saturday, 20 July 2013

We have no place to standSnowden,Everywhere is occupied by Obama’s shadowPapers by his rhetoric jokesThere is no place to talk, to drink, to readEverywhere is occupiedby one percent and 99 surveillance camerasYou are one person, one percent!Just stay in the transit area of Moscow AirportAnd send asylum requests to many far corners of the globeWhile,today is sunny and we are happy of EU new member

Mountains are occupied by the Taliban,Churches, mosques by Brotherhood,Let’s just find a wayto Tahrir, Taksim, Azadi, Tiananmen Squares....

Friday, 19 July 2013

We heard it with shockthat a girl had been shotand we asked ourselves:was it part of a plot?What was behind it,what was the reason?She must have committedthe sin of high treason.The attackers were guiltyof discrimination;her only demandwas the right to education.She survived the ordealby luck and will power;her enemies could do nothingbut rage and glower.She showed to the worldthat a girl - a fifteen year old -could defy prejudiceby being brave and bold.The efforts to silence herwere bound to failgiven her resistanceto the fanatics’ blackmail.She addressed the UNand she said books and penscare those extremists,misogynist men.

David was born in Liverpool in 1964. He left school with nothing, rummaged around various dead end jobs, then back to college and uni. In his 20's he first discovered poetry, starting writing and performing and has done so ever since. I has lived on the Wirral for the past 8 years.

Monday, 15 July 2013

Do you remember that kid?The one at your school,who had it all. Who wasseriously cool and looked good, stood tall.Had the best clothes,the best music, even the best hair.And you all wanted to be like them.We all grow up, and we all mature but they seemed Very centred, very secure.Is that them, now?Down that alleywith a gun in their handJust left a seedy bar,sore as fuckmad as helllooking to kill and kill some more.Then they'll walkand have a nice day.It's a killer's theme parkdone the American way.

Sunday, 14 July 2013

Another hot day in a scorching week here in the South West. My partner's son has friends from Poland staying, making their first visit to Cornwall and, indeed, to the UK. They are enjoying their stay and, while regretting the poor surf, are relishing the sunshine and the beaches. However, they doing this in the innocent belief that it is 'always like this in Cornwall'. Everything, they tell us, their faces wreathed in smile, is exactly as they imagined their holiday would be. We smile back and are happy for them. We don't tell them they have just struck lucky. The weather this week has been glorious, just as I remember it from childhood, a fine spell such as we have not seen in quite a long, damp while.

Anyway, down to the poetry. Simon Marks kicked off the week with his 'This Song's for You, El Presidente' which, for those of us who are old enough to remember, makes a grimly ironic nod to to the huskily warbled felicitations conveyed by another glamorous and pouting chanteuse to quite a different and ill-fated 'presidente'. This is a waspish poem and Marksy has a point. Ms Lopez and her PR machine may make all the excuses they like but it would not have taken more than a minute or two of research to establish the presence of the human rights concerns that they claim to have known nothing about. This is a case, I think, where ignorance cannot be held to be a valid defence. Of course, human rights is so last year even in our own 'sceptr'd isle' that it is, perhaps, mean of us, and Marksy, to take her to task.

On Tuesday we saw the return of one of our most regular contributors. Luigi Pagano's 'Inheritance'was prompted by the handing over of power by the Emir of Qatar to his son, Sheikh Tamim Hamad Al Thani, a move which, as Luigi points out, has raised some questions in a region where 'Peaceful transitions/ are rare'.

Then, on Wednesday, we had Philip Johnston's 'here in dementia bay'. Philip is also a regular contributor to Poetry24 and, in this piece, he highlights the mismatch between the 'health advice' we as a society give to our most senior members and the the rapidly dwindling financial support that we are prepared to offer in order to ensure that they receive adequate support and care. There is a real and pressing issue here and, as an older person myself, I am pleased to see Philip bring it into focus. I admit I am fearful for my eventual fate should I live to the age of my mother who is now in her mid-eighties. There is a real danger, I think, that our society is moving in the direction of gerontophobia. Like the sick and the disabled and the mentally ill, that section of the population rendered anonymous as 'the elderly' has become a 'soft' target.

On Thursday, try as I might I could not get onto Hotmail to access our folders. As a result there was no poem at all. This failure was addressed on Friday, however, with David Mellor's extremely hard-hitting 'Unemployed'. As usual, David shows that he can be relied on to 'tell it as it is'. The message of this poem is one that needs reiterating - over and over and over again. I was quite happy, therefore, to leave it up on Saturday when I had to start work at an unspeakably early hour. Sorry folks. I'll try to do better next week. Have a good one.

David was born in Liverpool in 1964. He left school with nothing, rummaged around various dead end jobs, then back to college and uni. In his 20's he first discovered poetry, starting writing and performing and has done so ever since. I has lived on the Wirral for the past 8 years.

Sunday, 7 July 2013

Simon Marks started the week of for us with his poem "Send us Ed – or we’ll cry" which commented on the seeming inability of the world's superpower to find one person. On Tuesday Martha Landman's "Musical Chairs, A Formidable Game" commented wittily on the bloodsport known as Australian politics. It's easiest to think of it as "The Sopranos" They may sincerely regret whacking you but they will whack you. On Wednesday Carolyn Cornthwaite's The Future's Bright continued her excellent run of poems lately. This one captured, succinctly , the feelings of despair which are becoming the new normal in many parts of the world.Luigi Pagano's Final Curtain gave a glimpse of the very far future and who might inherit the earth after us. It isn't the meek after all, it's the microbes. Wash your hands, folks!Saturday brought us Martha Landman's "A Piece of the Road"a fine poem poem about Nelson Mandela. The image of the Cape Cormorant is very powerful. Have a good week folks. There are plenty of stories out there to make poems about, it really is all happening at the moment.

Martha Landman has published poetry in various online poetry magazines like Everyday Poets, The New Verse News, Eunonia Review, Dr Huley's Snake Oil Cure, and others. She lives, loves and writes in tropical North Queensland Australia.